Hunting Scarlet Birds
A dream of July
I was hunting
scarlet birds in a verdant forest;
each dart striking true.
Then the One
appeared
from behind a tree to my left.
Large and unafraid,
his muscular body
and curved scimitar of a beak
were taut and poised.
I pulled a chick from my vest,
fluffy and yellow,
flecked with scarlet
to lure the
large one near.
And he did come,
cocking his head
from side
to side.
I was suddenly
afraid he would
peck my eyes
and I awoke in a sweat
to the sound of
whippoorwills calling.
Scout, an old cat
A rusty iron bell
nailed to the porch wall
tolls in a hot breeze.
She loves the sun so
I sit very still
while she sleeps in my lap.
I am so still
that a lizard runs across my shoe
and neither it nor I care.
I can see that rabbit
eating my tomato plants
and a tortoise, also,
half-buried in the pine straw
escaping the heat.
This sultry day drags on and on
but I don’t want it to end
because she will pass into the darkness
before the world does.
I begin to like the city
It is 1971 and summertime. I am seventeen. It is 5:15 pm on my first day of work in the city. I am earning $87.50 a week working at the telephone company. The gutters of West Peachtree are filled with trash and gushing with water; it has just stopped raining. The sidewalk is slick and I have to walk carefully as I’m wearing my black patent leather baby dolls. They look great with black nylon knee socks. I have a matching shoulder bag that I pull tight to my stomach. I’m wearing a gold plaid jumper with big patch pockets. Underneath is a brilliantly white blouse with a Peter Pan collar. I wear a brass medallion. I hold two quarters tight in my hand; bus fare. I stop on the corner in front of the Biltmore hotel. Behind me is Judy Brown’s Downtown lounge and across the street is the Sans Souci. A car drives past very fast and a filthy spray of water drenches me just as a brown beer bottle is thrown from the car. It bursts into pieces on my shoe. I just stand there. I shake the glass from my foot and look down. When I shake my foot I also shake off great drops of blood. They are spreading on the wet pavement. I move back from the road. Rule two: Don’t be stupid. Period. Stand back from the road. I lean against a pole and begin to feel pain in my foot. I can feel my sock and shoe getting squishy. I don’t look at my foot. It starts to get numb and I begin to think about my day.
I was given a job typing addresses on envelopes. There were hundreds of addresses. They left me alone all morning to do the work and I made mistake after mistake. So many that I stopped putting the ruined envelopes in the bin and stuffed them into my purse. That’s why I held my purse so close to my body when I left. I was afraid it would burst open. I spent lunch in the ladies room crying. When I came back there were two messages on my desk. Diane told me to return the calls and ask for the messages. The first was from Mr. Lyon. I dialed the number. A voice answered, “Atlanta Zoo” and still I asked for Mr Lyon. Diane snickered. The person on the other end hung up. I persisted. I dialed the second number, intending to ask for Mrs. Seacup. The receptionist who answered said, “Lovable Bra Company.” This time I hung up. My ears were so red and hot that I couldn’t hear the laughter in the room. Rule one: Don’t be stupid.
The bus stops in a smelly cloud of black diesel exhaust. The bottom step is even with the gutter and covered with rushing water. I step in and my shoes get soaked. I know I will get an infection. Tink, tink, go my quarters and I stand facing a bus load of strangers. No place to sit. My foot is throbbing. Through the cigarette smoke I see one seat in the very last row. I wobble down the aisle of the moving bus. All the while trying to keep my balance and not put pressure on my still bleeding foot. I sit down next to the largest and blackest man I have ever seen. He is dressed in white shirt, pants and apron. He wears a bakers hat that is at least a foot tall. My shoulders begin to shudder. Tears are threatening on the edges of my eyes. His voice booms out, “Where do you people’s stay?” I am not sure I understand him and I don’t want to be stupid again. I ignore him. He says it again and I realize that he is asking me where I live. He smells like fresh bread. I say “I live in Doraville.” “Dat’s a nice place. I know where dat is.” He smiles the broadest smile with the whitest teeth that I have ever seen. I smile back.
I begin to like the city.
Eat the Penis
Ugh! That’s disgusting!
Caroline said.
We looked at each other
over menus
while mosquitoes buzzed
against the screens.
I can’t eat chitterlings
I can’t put that in my mouth.
Try it once,
you might like it, I said.
In Beijing, (thinking to impress her)
I ate in a restaurant
that specializes in penis dishes.
All kinds, snake, dog, ox, donkey.
Some of it was very, very good!
She looked at me and said,
What the fuck kind of a girl
do you think I am?
